


Childish Cares

by Bobcatmoran



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Ficlet, Gen, Kidfic, Shenanigans, deaged characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11709741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bobcatmoran/pseuds/Bobcatmoran
Summary: Bossuet is left as the only one of Les Amis his adult age for Reasons, and is saddled with 8 toddlers, all of whom speak a worrying array of southern languages/dialects, some of them mutually unintelligible, and absolutely none of them understandable by Bossuet the northerner.





	Childish Cares

“M’sieur. M’sieur.” A small voice, accompanied by a tugging at his sleeve drew Bossuet away from monitoring Enjolras and Grantaire, the former who had finally decided to put a stop to the latter pulling his hair by biting Grantaire on the arm. No skin was broken, thank goodness, but Bossuet had forcefully put each into separate corners of the room. He’d managed (he hoped) to convey via sign language and, in Enjolras’ case, bodily picking him up and repositioning him several times, that they were to sit, facing the wall, until further notice.

“What is it, Feuilly?” Bossuet asked, taking a knee so as to better look Feuilly in the eye. Feuilly, uncomprehending, frowned and tugged at Bossuet’s sleeve again. “M’sieur,” he repeated, followed by a string of…God above, Bossuet couldn’t even begin to figure out what language that was.

Frustrated, Feuilly turned around, still holding onto Bossuet’s sleeve, and started walking into the other room. Bossuet gave Enjolras and Grantaire one last glance before giving in and following.

The scene that greeted him made his heart plummet. Courfeyrac had somehow scaled the bookshelf, and was perched on the second-highest shelf, eyeballing Combeferre, who was reading below, oblivious. Bahorel, sitting on the edge of the back of the sofa, was egging Courfeyrac on gleefully, and Joly looked about to have an apoplexy. Prouvaire was nowhere to be seen.

With a shriek of, “ _Un leon_!” Courfeyrac launched himself off the bookshelf, attempting to pounce on Combeferre, who yelped and hit Courfeyrac with the heavy volume he’d been reading. Bahorel laughed so hard that he fell off the sofa. Joly, clearly overwhelmed by everything that had happened this day, burst into tears.

 


End file.
